Under the Shadow of Shadowfang
by Miyajima
Summary: A wandering Forsaken mage recounts his recollection of Arugal's invasion of Shadowfang Keep, and the story of his own rebirth.
1. Worgen in Pyrewood

_Rain poured down on the small town of Brill, as ever shrouded in its veil of dark night. One hunched figure rushed into the inn to get out of the storm, closing the door behind him and hanging up his wide-brimmed hat on the hangers in the porch. To his he added his dripping cloak, and laid his gnarled and worn staff against the wall. This done, he walked slowly into the main seating area, and took a seat near the fire. He stuffed tobacco into a pipe and lit it, inhaling the smoke and letting it pour out the holes in his cheeks._

_The temporary bartender, a man named Armand, raised an eyebrow at the newcomer and shuffled over to offer wine and bread. The other man accepted, and began to chew slowly on a crust of bread while Armand filled his glass._

_"A good vintage, zis Pinot, oui?" Armand laughed. "Mind you, any vintage older than seven years is good enough to drink! Ze wineries 'ave been closed since then..."_

_The man replied, his voice stern and strong, despite his ragged throat. "Of course, the land is plagued and so are the crops."_

_"Yes, yes..." Armand agreed, shaking his head. "I can still remember ze times when wine and cheese flowed like water off ze mountains. Of course, zat was before ze kingdom fell... Ah, my blessed Alterac, no more than ruins and battlefields now."_

_The door flew open and a hooded and cloaked elf strode in and up to the bar. Armand hurriedly excused himself and went to serve the newcomer. The man was left to sip his wine and eat his bread, although it wasn't long before someone else came to sit with him. This time it was a warrior, wearing burnished plate armour proudly displaying the banner of Lordaeron. This patron slapped the man on the back, and with a hearty laugh broke into conversation, pouring out his life story and whatever else came to mind._

_The man just sat and listened, not interrupting or even giving a hint that he was paying attention. Although, as time passed, the armoured warrior ran out of subjects to discuss and posed a question._

_"So, what's your story?" He asked, with a grin that showed a surprisingly full set of teeth._

_The man removed the pipe from his mouth and raised an eyebrow, his golden eyes fixed on the warrior's. _

_"My story? It's a long time since someone last asked, but as you have told me yours, I suppose I'm obliged to share mine." He leant forward and drained the cup in his hand._

_

* * *

_

It was only seven years ago now that they first came to Pyrewood. They were all cloaked and hooded, and in the dark we couldn't see their faces. In fact, they wore gauntlets and boots, helmets and breastplates, so we could see nothing of their true nature. We gave them rooms for the night, we couldn't see anything wrong in it.

Of course, I'd lived in Pyrewood Village all my life. I'd occasionally travel to Ambermill, across the forest, but I don't think I'd ever ventured further north than the lake, or further south than the Wall. But why should I? I was content there, I knew everyone and they knew me.

However, I'm going off track. Yes, the mysterious men who came in the night. Sounds like the typical beginning of a child's ghost story, doesn't it?

They wouldn't let us take their coats, replying in gruff, gutteral voices that they needed only to be shown their rooms. So, we complied, and I was sent to tell Baron Silverlaine of their arrival.

It was a short walk up to the Keep, and the night was beautiful. A full moon hung in the sky, the stars providing a beautiful backdrop against the tops of the pines, and the far off silhouette of the Greymane Wall. I was welcomed in by one of the stable boys and taken to the Baron's study, up on the top floor of the keep. I told him about these strangers, and gave their descriptions to him. I remember his voice now, a kindly old man was the Baron:

"Why, by all means lad, have them sent up to the keep! I'll get the cooks working on a feast for these men, we haven't had guests in some time." So I went back down the winding path and into the Inn. I told the men of the Baron's invitation, and after a quick discussion amongst themselves in a tongue I could not comprehend, they followed me to the keep.

That was my first mistake.

The Baron had been busy, when I returned, we were shown into the dining hall, where the tables had been laid and all manner of meats and wines were upon them, roasts had been set above the fires, and, well... It was a meal fit for kings.

But while they were being welcomed and shown their seats, I saw one of them skulk off. Intrigued, I followed him back to the portcullis and drawbridge, where he began to turn the great wheel that controlled the iron barred gate. I was going to cry out. I don't know what stopped me, but I just couldn't do anything. No sooner than the portcullis was lifted than another group of these armour-clad, cloak-wearing men came through, followed by another. There must've been at least a score of these soldiers standing in the courtyard. I guess I knew what was going to happen, even then.

Fear and my imagination seized me, and I ran, taking the service entrance out to avoid the soldiers. I had just reached the bottom of the path when I heard a blood-curdling howl, and the screams of the keep's citizens. Guilt struck me then. I could've turned back even then and roused the men of Pyrewood to defend the keep, but I ran, and ran and ran as fast as my legs would take me, away from the screaming and the shouting.

Eventually I think I passed out from exhaustion.


	2. Ambermill

_By now, Armand had returned to the table, and another patron, a grim-looking Forsaken (oddly enough still sporting a full beard), had taken a seat to listen to the man's story. He took a sip of water, which poured out of his throat, but it seemed to be the need to calm his nerves that made him drink, not a need to quench his thirst._

_

* * *

_

So, yes, I had passed out on the forest floor. Heh, I awoke to find the tail of a curious squirrel brushing my nose. Scared the living daylights out of it when I got up and paced about. Trying to recall my situation, of course.

Thoughts raced through my mind, the keep had been taken and its inhabitants slaughtered by unknown soldiers who apparently could howl like wolves. I guessed that Pyrewood had fallen too... So there were two directions I could take. South, back towards Pyrewood but veering towards the Greymane Wall, or continue north, to Ambermill. The prospect of going south didn't... Grip me, to be honest. Then I thought that perhaps I could get help from the magi that I knew lived in Ambermill and had connections with Dalaran.

Confidently, I set off, trying to remember the way out of the thick pine forest, and how to get back onto the road. Due to the heavy mists, this took me... Well... I couldn't really judge the time due to the thick canopy of leaves over my head, but by the time I HAD come to the road, the mist had cleared and the sun was quite high in the sky.

From there it was easy enough to get my bearings and I reckon I reached Ambermill in perhaps under an hour, the shadows only got slightly shorter.

You know, back then, Ambermill was a beautiful farmstead-come-village, not at all like the now ragged and ruined windmills with sails that creak and groan as, reluctantly, they're pushed by the wind. No, no, the fields were ripe with grain, harvest was coming. However... No one looked... happy. Everywhere I turned I was greeted with scowling glares. If I was to make eye contact, they instantly turned away. Even Katherine... Or, well, she was Katie to me, beautiful girl, she was. My one sweetheart and I only reason I ever went to market in Ambermill. But even she seemed wary of me, wouldn't come near me. Passed by me in the street with not even a second glance, although I noticed she hurried her step.

I thought that maybe I should get to the town hall, talk to the councillor, he'd be friendly to me, surely? After all, I might bring bad news, but they know who I am, and that's something.

But by the Ligh- Sorry. By the Shadow. But by the Shadow, he had a worse countenance than all of them! I humbly shuffled into the council hall and bowed in greeting, before being barked at...

"Oh, dispense with the pleasantries. Tell me, since you seem to have survived, what do you know of this?"

I was a little confused at first. And I think the look on my face conveyed more than thousand words could. The councillor gave a curt nod, and a nearby servant pulled back the canvas which I had only just then noticed on the floor.

I drew breath. Before me lay a hideous... THING. A mixture of man and animal, like a wolf that had learned to walk on its hind legs and become dexrous with his fore pair. What shocked me most was the armour. I knew it, and I think that sudden glint of recognition in my eyes confirmed what the councillor suspected of me.

I recognised this body before me, arrow shafts sticking out at varied angles, and scorched skin mixing with blood-clotted fur. The councillor spoke again.

"A small group of these... these "Worgen" were caught prowling the fields near the village last night. We shot this one and the others fled. We pursued on horseback, the beasts can run as swift as a dragon flies, and we saw them disappear into the welcoming gates of Pyrewood! So now. Tell me why you come from that accursed village at this hour, giving the pretense of humility and friendship. You recognised this wolf-man, didn't you? You knew what it was, didn't you?"

I was baffled, and just about managed a nod. I hadn't realised that during his discourse, the councillor had moved closer to me, and now he seized me with both hands by the collar and nearly lifted me off the ground. He spat in my face as he hissed at me, rage blazing in his eyes.

"Leave. Now. Return to Pyrewood, return to your freaks, your pets! I do not want to see your shadow darken the door of any stead in Ambermill, understand!" He threw me to the floor and just about restrained himself from kicking me as I scrabbled to my feet. I didn't try to protest innocence, I knew it would do no good. I left the council house, despondant, and made my way to the outskirts of the town.

There... They seized on me. I felt a firm grip on the back of my shirt and choked as I was pulled backwards with such force I was certain my shirt would tear. Thrown to the ground, again, I tried to scramble to my feet, not looking up at my attacker. This time I was kicked, quite severely. Breath knocked out of me, I just collapsed to the floor, before being pulled back up again. This time I was brought face to face with my attacker, a man, older than I, but still in the prime of his life, with a face like thunder and a kick to match. I noticed others gathered around him, perhaps half a dozen in total, it was hard to tell with my eyes glazed over in pain.

I was bodily dragged, without a word, out into the forest. Gods know how long they dragged me, I was in too much pain to tell, but soon we got to a clearing, where I was dropped, and a satchel was dropped down next to me. I dared to look up while they were momentarily distracted by talking to one another, and what greeted me nearly made me choke with tears.

Dear old Baron Silverlaine, his head on a spear. That look of utmost terror caught in his features as one of those wolfmen no doubt tore out his throat. I guessed by the colour of the wood that, despite the blood staining it, it was not pine, and therefore hadn't come from our forest. With what scattered wits I had left, I guessed that the murderers had placed this here as a sick greeting to the citizens of Ambermill who might walk this way.

I tore my gaze away from those cold eyes to look back up at my attacker, and his followers. The satchel had been untied and one of the men was removing a long length of rope, and tying it to a nearby tree branch, high up enough that, if I were holding it, my feet would not reach the ground.

That's when it clicked. These weren't just angry villagers bent on taking their rage out on me, this was a lynch mob. I wasn't going to be beaten, I was going to be killed. Perhaps they thought that by leaving me here, the wolves would be shocked to see (whom they supposed was) their master swinging from the trees.

I was seized upon again. They made me stand on a crate. My eyes were streaming with tears by this point. They placed the noose over my neck, already hoarse from screaming my innocence in their faces.

Not a word from any of them. The crate was kicked away, my feet fell into nothingness... And the last sight before my neck thankfully broke was old Silverlaine's head staring at me, and with what I could only make out as anger and confusion in his eyes. Then... Well. All went black, I guess.


	3. A Rude Awakening

_Some empty steins littered the table, unwashed plates and burnt down candlesticks adding to the scenery as a couple more customers joined the table to hear the rest of the man's story._

What can I remember of the time I spent dead? Well... I'll put the question to you, can you remember anything? No? Thought as much. Well, for me it was just... an inky blackness of being. Of course, my next memory after seeing Silverlaine's head is awakening with a jolt to see the crooked smile of an aging man leaning over me.

He saw my surprise, and backed away as I scrabbled to pull myself up into a seated position, a slow laugh coming from his scab-covered lips. I'll take the moment to describe the man. Bent over, wearing a skull-cap and dressed in what looked to me like his night shirt, he was sporting a pair of spectacles as crooked as his smile. I felt a sense of dread from looking upon him, but I could not tell why. I'd never seen him during my visits to Ambermill, that was for certain.

But yes, I'm getting sidetracked. Around me was a ring of black candles, I was sitting on the stone floor in the basement of what I presumed was this man's house. Strange symbols covered the floor, making grand patterns and concentric circles, parallel lines and all manner of weird and wonderful diagrams. Scrolls and books lay haphazardly strewn around, some looking very well read indeed. Smoke was gathering at the roof of this cellar, indicating to me that the hatch was shut and this man did not want to be disturbed.

"So, can you speak? They didn't cut out your tongue, did they? That would be a terrible shame, oh yes, a terrible shame indeed. Can't have that, no... So speak, boy! Start with your name, can you remember that?"

I stammered something in reply, and the man shook his head and sighed. "Hmm... Perhaps I did not align the runes correctly, I'll have to take not- Oh, you, stay there, for the moment. Don't want people seeing you, oh, no, that would not be helpful..." He muttered and shuffled away to a desk in the corner. I just sat terrified, my mind trying to reconcile all this new information.

It was then that I absent-mindedly placed a hand to the floor. I didn't register anything, and somehow my brain concluded that that wasn't correct and forced me to look. I placed the other hand down. Still nothing. The floor should feel cold, I told myself. In fact, in the pale light of the candles, my flesh seemed to take on a sickly grey colour. I drew breath in amazement, and then... Well, I didn't breath it back out. That was alien to me as well, and I quickly moved to check my pulse, already fearing that I knew the conclusion of this endeavour.

Aye, no pulse. No heartbeat. No breath.

No life, I concluded. Swiftly, everything dropped into place, the candles, the runes, the scrolls, the strange appearance of the man, my sudden movement, the noose... I felt around my neck. Yes, the noose was still there, the rope cut off about a foot down from the knot.

I heard a knock above me, which disrupted my thoughts. I heard another knock, then a louder one, then what sounded like a beam giving away and splintering. I looked over to the man. He had removed his spectacles and looked, panic-stricken, up to the ceiling.

I heard shouts and running above my head as the intruders searched. I heard one man yell triumphantly from the area near the hatch, and then the noise of them struggling with the ring.

Of course, it had been locked from the inside, and now I noticed the man was running frantically around, gathering up scrolls and putting out the candles. I think he knew the game was up, and was trying to hide the evidence... But too late. A gunshot rang in my ears as the bolt flew to the floor and the hatch was swung open, the smoking barrel of a blunderbuss the first thing I saw in the lamp-light of the rooms above.

Instinctively, I played dead. Somewhat ironic for my current circumstances, I'll admit. The man cowered in the corner nearby, curling himself up and whimpering. A pathetic example of mankind, really. The men took one look around, taking in the runes, the candles, the scrolls, the 'corpse' and finally, the necromancer.

Risking a peek, I recognised one of them as my killer, and he didn't disappoint, taking his colleague's shotgun and shooting the mage in cold blood there and then. Another man hoisted me up and took me out of the town and into the woods, where he threw me to the ground, spat for good measure, and walked off. I suppose imagining that I'd be eaten, sooner or later, by some wild animal.

When I was certain he was out of sight, I sat up and pondered my position, the rush of the recent events preventing my mind from quite taking in that I was dead and by all means should crack up.

Hrm, I don't know whether it's just a learnt reflex, but my throat feels dry... Get me another goblet of wine, would you, Armand?


	4. The Silent Wall

I reassessed my situation. Could I go to Lordaeron? No, I didn't know the way, and rumours spread down as low as Pyrewood that some sickness had wiped out the populace. I remember that batallion of elves that came to the town, and stayed for a short while, making magical wards and carving runes into the doors... Perhaps to protect us, if the disease made it further, but it didn't do any good against those 'Worgen'.

Southshore? By now I imagined that Ambermill had sent a rider to Southshore, telling them what had occured, so they'd be out hunting for any worgen, and probably wouldn't be too happy to see me!

Pyrewood and the Keep were obviously not viable options. Nor was the Sepulchre, the great mausoleum in the north of the forest. Although it might be a good hiding place, I didn't fancy having to sleep among the graves.

So the only place left to go was... Gilneas. The 'Lost Kingdom' that seperated itself from the world with a great wall... I thought that, maybe, they'd let me in. Getting my bearings, I made my way south, carefully avoiding the Keep and the village, Ambermill and anything I saw moving in the distance.

I can't tell how long it took me, time suddenly didn't have meaning to me anymore, but eventually I made it to the Wall. To my surprise, I noticed that there was a refugee camp set up along it's length, and militia patrolling. To the left, towards the forest front, I saw eyes glowing in the dim torchlight, and my heart fell. Not literally, of course, although that HAS happened since. Just metaphorically.

I came slowly to the camp, trying to remain out of sight from the militia men in case they noticed something different about me. I was covered in scratches, which didn't bleed, but still I hoped that they would not be noticed. Although my mind had not yet quite accepted my undeath, there was that little voice telling me to be wary of the living. I spotted a pile of dirty blankets near the edge of the camp, away from the lights, and saw my chance. I stole one thin piece of cloth and wrapped it around my head and neck like a shawl, letting the rest trail down my back. My aim was to cover my eyes, I could see the soft glow lighting up my palm if I raised it to my eye, and knew that that fact alone would make them suspicious if they saw it. I tore a strip off the cloth and wrapped it tightly around my head, covering my eyes. It robbed me of most of my sight, but I thought it best.

I came back out into the torchlight, and, after a quick interrogation, I was shown to a small area where I could sleep. Well, led to a small area, they thought I was blind.

Things then stabilized... I spent my days by the wall, wrapped up in blankets to hide my pallid skin, accepting what frugal meals they gave me, although I was never hungry. I never felt warm, either, always a dull ache of being cold. At times, I risked removing my eye-cover and looking up at the wall. I never saw any patrols or soldiers walking atop it, and the gate was never opened, no matter how the sick wailed and beat on it... Rumours abounded in the camp. Gilneas was taken by plague, by fire, by famine, by Orcs, by Naga... Neverending tale-spinning around the campfire at night. I smirked at their theories, but didn't add any of my own. I was kept occupied watching the small pinpricks of light that moved along the treeline.

I had thought that they were planning something, and I was, sadly, right. A week or so later, when night fell once more, a small band of those wolf-men attacked the camp, taking us all by surprise. One seized on me and tore out my throat... You can see what remains of it now. Ah, but the look in it's eyes as I didn't scream out in pain, but rather took up the shortsword of a dead guard and stabbed the pitiful creature in its flank... It was worth it to let them know that they hadn't slain all in the Keep.

The militia beat back the attackers, and began gathering the dead and wounded. I knew that my time here was coming to an end... One of the men saw my neck, despite my efforts to hide it, and stumbled back, shouting and yelling for help. Tearing off my blindfold, I ran back into the woods, preferring to take my chances with the Worgen than be burnt on the funeral pyre here...


	5. Silent as the Grave

Days rolled into weeks, and weeks into months, and I lost all track of time, wandering the forests, avoiding being seen. I took to watching the Dalaran mages that strolled daily through the forest, and began to pick up some simple magic, carefully noting and copying the actions and incantations they used. That helped a lot in the time I spent among the trees, and the look in the Worgen's eyes when I seared it's snout straight off was enough revenge for me!

I noticed a worrying decline in the number of humans in the forest and a growing number of dead ones. I don't know whether it was the work of the mage that took Pyrewood Keep or another, but they seemed as eager to kill me as the living were.

Eventually, roaming the northern reaches of the forest, I stumbled across an ancient and crumbling crypt. It seemed deserted, but the one tattered banner standing against the wind, and the thick wooden post with spiked rings hanging from it told me to be careful.

Good thing too. With a blast of icy magic I was thrown to the floor, and before I knew it, I had at least four undead guards surrounding me, threatening me with sword and stave. I spoke out, starting an incantation, and they all let their swords hang loose. One even dropped it. Startled, myself, I looked up and saw that their jaws were hanging agape, it seemed they were as shocked by my ability to speak as I was by their lack of will to attack me.

The one standing on my back eased off and I levered myself to a standing position. A shambling form came up to me, his features hid by a wide-brimmed hat, and his bones poking through the shabby robes.

"You... You're not... Scourge?" He ventured, still seeming a little wary of me.

"... Not that I know of."

"You don't serve the Lich King?"

"Who?"

Although I couldn't see his face, I could tell he smiled. He let out a wheezing cough which slowly turned into a laugh. He cast aside his hat and grinned at me with the half a dozen teeth he still possessed.

"Welcome to the Sepulcher!"

With that, I was escorted down into the large mausoleum and introduced to the others. They explained that they were Forsaken scouts from Undercity, and at my blank look they added: "Lordaeron."

This time -my- jaw dropped.

"I thought everyone had been destroyed?"

"We... Were. But, the Dark Lady freed us and we set up a stronghold in the Royal Catacombs. This is the Undercity."

I slumped down into a seat, trying to take this in. "So you were all raised by mages too?"

"Some, most of us by the Liches. But that is past, and we have new life!"

The discussion continued long into the night, until at last I felt I understood what had happened. They took me to the bat handlers and sent me on my way to Undercity. I don't really have much to tell you about my time there... I trained as a mage, and was then posted back at the Sepulcher for some time. Last week I was told to bring a package to the Undercity, one of the Apothecaries had apparently made a breakthrough, and I was on my way back from the Apothecarium when I thought I'd stop over in Brill.

So, barkeep, how about a round on me? I think my audience has listened well!

* * *

_The gathered patrons broke into laughter and cheered as Verseau returned, passing out overflowing steins. The storyteller raised a drink to them all and made a toast to the destruction of Shadowfang Keep, and to the memory of Baron Silverlaine._


End file.
